The Other Skywalker
by PTGreat
Summary: For writeroffates's prompt: Can I have something with Leia being kickbutt, maybe of her saving Han and Luke's butts *again*?
Kneeling on the floor with his head in her lap, Leia ran her fingers through Luke's damp hair, brushing it back from his sweaty face. It was gradually darkening, the blonde not as light as it had been the first time they'd met. Him in that ill-fitting uniform, hair tousled and face so eager. Like a puppy.

"I think his fever is getting worse."

"Kid sure has a great sense of timing," Han grumbled, smacking at the wall panels methodically, like he hadn't gone around the room nine times already.

"Could you not?" she scowled. "The room isn't going to change just because you're stubborn."

"Oh sure, princess. Let me just sit here and wait for the Imperials to determine the precise details of our execution."

Leia rolled her eyes, letting the floor steal the heat from her palm before placing it on Luke's forehead. Urgency tapped at forefront of her mind irritably, but further back there was a strange, knowing calm of determination.

"Or maybe our favorite space wizard will wake up and save the day, huh?"

The door hissed open, two stormtroopers on either side of a grey clad officer. A blaster pointed between his eyes, Han put his hands up with a grimace and backed away from the wall, stopping just in front of Luke and Leia, but not quite obscuring her view of their captor. The officer swaggered forward several steps and Leia tensed, attention zeroing in on Luke's saber dangling from his belt.

"Leia Organa," he said, oozing smug.

Leia cocked her head at his familiarity. Ah. Yes.

"Youthan Daltrin."

"How good of you to remember me, princess."

"How could I not?"

Impossible really. He'd thrown a tantrum of ridiculous proportions at her thirteenth birthday party—the official one, not the one she'd actually enjoyed with her family and intimate friends—after one of the serving droids dropped a platter near him, the mess just barely splashing his pants leg. He nodded at one of the troopers, who moved towards her.

"She will join me for a private discussion."

Han jerked to her defense, despite the blasters immediately on him. Jaw clenched, she grabbed his arm.

"Han don't," she looked at Daltrin through her lashes. "It's fine."

"The hell it is."

She carefully moved Luke and, squeezing Han's forearm, she stood. One of the troopers took her by the upper arm, firmly guiding her towards the officer and the door.

"Take care of him," she said, glancing back at Han over her shoulder.

"Just remember he'd rather wake up to your face than mine."

The door slid shut between them and for a moment, Leia felt frighteningly alone. A soft breath of sweet perfume she'd known her all her life, and the touch of a warm hand on her shoulder that brought to mind the confident patience of her father steadied her. Leia watched Daltrin, a few paces ahead of her. Confident, young, only a few years older than herself, he was from a wealthy family, and keen to climb the Imperial social ladder. Daltrin hadn't singled her out just because she was Princess Organa. No, he was expecting the petite girl to be more malleable, easier to intimidate or charm into compliance. She mentally squared her shoulders. Good.

The ship was too small to need a level change to reach his office, which was also small but neat and expensively decorated, physical evidence of his accomplishments on display. He tapped his fingers on the hilt of Luke's lightsaber, like a spoiled child eager to show off his new toy because the other children didn't have it. Did he intend to showcase it like one of his Imperial commendations? Leia narrowed her eyes but schooled her expression to something more demure once his pale eyes were on her. Calculating but he could only see what he expected to see.

"Your friend is quite ill."

"Yes."

Be small, be meek.

"And the other is, well," he wrinkled his nose, "trash. Very ill-bred."

She ground her teeth. Be small. Be meek. And imagine Chewie squeezing him until he turned blue.

"It's quite the predicament," Daltrin leaned back against his desk, crossing his ankles and waved dismissively at the stormtroopers, who hesitated but left all the same

Leia lowered her eyes and wrung her hands, "Quite."

He pretended at being gentle, kind and reached out, taking her chin in his hand to tip her face back up, "It needn't be."

Tears were easy to fake, "Doesn't it? I'm a rebel."

"A young girl manipulated by her father's foolishness."

He stepped away from the desk, into her space, cupping her cheek now.

"I could help you, princess. Bring you back into the fold of the Empire."

She leaned into him, one hand on his chest, "Really?"

"Oh yes. Quite easily. You need only—"

The saber hummed to life in her hand. Daltrin's eyes widened in disbelief, anger blotching his almost attractive face.

"You-!"

"Really, Daltrin," she drawled, moving the saber perilously close to his throat. "I've met more persuasive droids."

"Bitch," he snarled, taking a half step then falling back with a hiss as the saber seared a shallow burn across his neck. "Guards!"

Leia kicked him hard in the groin and whirled around to face the two stormtroopers stepping through the door behind her. She sliced through one of their blasters, surprising herself almost as much as them at how easily it went through, with a crackle of overheated metal and malfunctioning machinery. It went through armor and flesh even more easily.

"You won't get away with this!" Daltrin shrieked, still doubled over.

Leia scoffed and brought the hilt down hard on the back of his head, dropping him like a sack of meilorun. She peered out of the room into the corridor. Seeing no immediate backup coming, she dragged the dead troopers further into the office, possibly wasting valuable time or buying herself some. She smacked the door controls as she exited, then melted them for good measure. The other stormtroopers would be on alert as soon as these two didn't check in but they'd be distracted trying to get into Daltrin's office.

She hurried down the hallway and skidded to a stop in front of the lone detention cell. She chewed at her bottom lip, looking at the lock. Likely it would start an alarm with the wrong code. What a time to be without R2. Well. Leia looked at the lightsaber tightly gripped in her palm, still humming. It was worth a shot. She sucked in a breath and raised it high above her head with both hands—hopefully Han wasn't trying to beat the door into submission again—and jammed the blade in to the hilt. The metal creaked and groaned, the heat almost burning her hands while she forced the saber to move in a large rough circle. Two well-placed kicks and the massive cut out fell back into the cell with a clattering thud. Han's shocked face stared back at her through the opening.

"Grab Luke and let's go," she ordered.

"Uh. Yes ma'am. Whatever you say, ma'am."

Han hefted Luke up into his arms and slung him over his shoulder, undignified but effective, while he stepped through the self-made exit. She let the saber hum closed and touched her palm to Luke's flushed cheek. His breathing seemed a little easier now maybe. Catching a blue glow in the corner of her eye, she snapped her gaze around but found nothing, where she'd expected to see—she wasn't sure. Something. Someone? Han nodded at Luke's saber in her hand.

"So is this gonna be a thing with you now?"

Leia scowled, "Shut up and move, Solo."


End file.
